


Same Old

by Dale_Gardener



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-24
Updated: 2010-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-12 03:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dale_Gardener/pseuds/Dale_Gardener
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hutch lets Starsky attend to some personal grooming for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Same Old

The scissors arced through the air to land with their closed blades secure against Starsky's palm. "I have to say, this is an incredible honor."

"I'm willing to let you shave me. Bullshit is not on the agenda and neither is stabbing me in the eye."

Starsky grinned, cocksure. "What, buddy? Doncha trust me?" He got up close, leaning into Hutch's space, blue eyes bright and amused.

"Just get on with it, before I change my mind."

"Okay. Think I'll approach this little caterpillar problem from below. Make room, will ya?"

Making room meant spreading his legs so that Starsk could kneel and get in close, his body solid against Hutch's legs, his body heat radiating to warm Hutch's blood too. More warmth flooded through him as Starsky ran his thumb across the width of his mustache. "I'm not sorry to see it go, but still. Even unwelcome guests should get a goodbye, right?" Then the blade of the scissors tickled against Hutch's skin, a cold, hard kiss against his upper lip, while Starsky trimmed away the bulk of bristle, humming under his breath in concentration now and again.

"There now," he said, knuckles running down the line of Hutch's jaw. "Just about ready for stage two. Bathroom?"

"Knock yourself out."

"Been there, done that, can think of more fun things to do. Maybe after we've got you baby-soft again, huh?"

Hutch pretended to consider this, before he smiled. "It sounds like a plan."

The trimmed mess of his upper lip caught his eye in the mirror, before Starsky crowded him up against the basin. "Yeah, it's a mess. But me and my magic fingers will fix it, right? And the rest of this stubble thing you've got going."

"Right." He stood still then, his eyes shut, while strong fingers rubbed shaving cream across his upper lip, along his whole jaw. "Making a meal of this part, aren't you?" he challenged.

Warmth breathed against his ear. "Always willing to make a meal of you, you know that." Mischievous suddenly, Hutch tilted his face, and Starsky yelped as Hutch's lathery skin smeared against his.

"Hey, no fair."

Hutch looked into those bright eyes. "I wanted to do that before you were holding the razor. Call me cautious." He handed Starsky the towel. "Here."

The lather wiped away from his skin, Starsky took up the safety razor. "Here goes nothing," he declared, and began; slow, careful strokes under Hutch's nose, all the sturdy warmth close as could be while he twisted away towards the basin occasionally, rinsing, and then returning, scraping away at Hutch's whiskers with care. Hutch braced one hand against Starsky's hip, the rough caress of denim against his skin. It was hypnotic almost – the whisper of the razor's travel over his skin, Starsky's steady breathing in his ear, the intimate heat of their bodies close together.

A hot washcloth passed over his face, then the comfort of a warm towel.

"There you go," Starsky said in satisfaction.

Hutch turned to the mirror, inspecting himself. Shaving the mustache hadn't magically turned any years back, he thought critically. But with Starsky's face looking over his shoulder, eyes meeting eyes in the mirror, with Starsky's hand splayed promisingly across his stomach, he decided that he could live with being the same old Kenneth Hutchinson he always was.


End file.
